The First Church of Granola

It's a movement where everyone is welcome. It's a movement whose raison d'etre has a definite point of view, and members tend to freely share that with others; but usually not in an overbearing or triumphalist way. It's a movement where everyone has something to contribute. It's a movement where, in its local organizing units, people may disagree, sometimes profoundly, but conflicts generally get worked out via a process of consensus decision making. I was introduced to this movement by new friends at a spiritual retreat long ago, during my university days; I was once deeply committed to its principles...then grew apart from it for many years...recently dropped into one of its centers, and found myself very happy to be there, and might go back very soon.

I am talking about...food cooperatives.

My first exposure to food co-ops came my freshman year in college. I was vaguely aware of something called a co-op down the street from my dorm -- my preppie dorm-mates noted that "Weird people shop there," which elicited an odd stirring in my small-town soul; but I never ventured into it. Then one weekend I attended a retreat with Lutheran Student Movement, where I was introduced to a lot of idealistic young adults, from a similar spiritual milieu, who were committed to living more lightly on the planet; they had what seemed to be an encyclopedic knowledge of geopolitical and environmental issues; they recycled, and bought stuff from cottage industries overseas, and ate low on the food chain. They were also fun, and friendly, earnest without being a pain in the ass, and irreverently reverent in an appealing way, and they quickly adopted me into their posse. They made me want to be a better person. So one day I wandered off campus to their mysterious little store next to the bus station...and just kept coming back.

I have a lot of food co-operative "firsts": My first exposure to foods ranging from tempeh to hickory nuts; my first exposure to the Grateful Dead (when I asked a volunteer who the band was on the stereo, he looked at me sadly and murmured, "You're very young, aren't you?"); my first eye-popping undergraduate look at Our Bodies, Ourselves, there in the book section -- a volume that, ironically, I still have to hide from prying parental eyes 20 years later; the first major growth spurt of my social comfort meter, thanks to a membership that included a local ueberconservative Christian cult whose Fearless Leader claimed that the Holy Spirit gave this co-op a special divine endorsement...academics...yuppie parents seeking wholesome food for young Betsy and Chip...old folks from a nearby senior highrise...a Marxist autoworker hailing from the UK who sounded in both accent and rhetoric like Eric Idle playing the peasant revolutionary in Monty Python and the Holy Grail...aging hippies and their Deadhead spiritual children...the sort of high-eyebrow New Agey types who might swing a pendulum over the produce to see what the elemental spirits had in mind for dinner that evening...various species of "alternative" folks, including my crunchy Lutheran friends...and persons who frankly defied categorization, like one frequent volunteer, a headshorn art major whose favored mode of dress was a Cannon bedsheet (we knew this because she always wore it tag side outward) tied into a sarong, accessorized by Doc Martens and unhindered by any undergarments that we could discern; I think this was an installment more than a fashion statement per se. The co-op also inspired my first public attempt at "thinking globally, acting locally" -- LutheranChik's Righteous Whole Grain Christmas, when all my friends and relatives received leaden loaves of my rookie attempts at homemade bread, many of which I'm sure are still surviving intact in landfill substrata. (But it's the thought that counts, I say.)

It's been awhile since I've shopped at a food co-op. But lately a food co-op in a university town about an hour's drive from my home has been sponsoring programming on our area public radio station; mention of their new greenhouse piqued my interest. And since my doctor yelled at me about my cholesterol, I'd been thinking more about reforming my diet. So, one recent Sunday afternoon when I was feeling a little stir-crazy and about to disturb the domestic equilibrium, I decided to take a little road trip.

I'd actually been to this establishment once before; at the time it was a shabby little cinderblock building, ill-kept inside as well as out, and it had been something of a downer to visit. Today, however, I found a completely renovated building with a new second floor, decorative cedar shakes and custom windows in the shape of the twin-pines co-op logo, landscaped front yard and the promised new greenhouse. When I opened the door and caught that whiff of co-op -- an intriguing mixture of spices, granary, ground coffee, a whiff of patchouli and lavender -- I was in the zone, as they say.

Handmade soap...oh. Every culinary herb and spice one can think of...oh. Industrial-size bottles of tamari...oh. Fair Trade coffee...ooh. Rows of beans and grain and granola...mmmm. Organic Swiss chard and portabella mushrooms...mmmm. Every imaginable soyfood, and organic meat too...wow. Little handwritten educational notes scattered about, like maternal lunchbox letters, explaining where items are from, why they are or aren't being carried by the store...awww. A tiny deli area with cafe table...yeah. By the time I got to the greenhouse door I was biting my lip to keep from making sounds that might frighten the staff. Awhile later I arrived breathlessly at the counter with an overflowing shopping basket, plus several peat pots in hand. A pleasant, natural-fiber/cruelty-free sort of young gal stood at the cash register.

"I'm provisioning," I explained. "I live in [Outer Podunk]." The cashier's eyes widened in what may have been pity.

"Oh."

I get that a lot.

Anyhow...driving home from my excellent adventure, grooving to some entirely appropriate Afro-Celtic tunes on The Thistle and Shamrock, I thought: This was kind of like...well, church, on a good day. People working together for a good end, for themselves and others; a celebration of life and wholeness and diversity; giving gifts of time and talent; zigging where the dominant culture is zagging.

I'm happy to be part of a church home that "does co-op" pretty well. It makes me want to be a better person, not only out of gratitude toward God but out of gratitude toward my church family, for gathering me in and making me a part of their project. And if they ever ask me to bake bread...well, now they'll actually be able to eat it.